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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852370">All the Way Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart'>ThePreciousHeart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>This is Spinal Tap (1984)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Best Friends, Bittersweet, Deleted Scenes, Friendship, Kinda weirdly sad for something that’s based on a comedy, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Singing, Two halves of a whole idiot, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, oblivious to love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:27:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation and a serenade between two old friends while holed up in a recording studio. Based on a deleted scene from the film.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David St. Hubbins/Nigel Tufnel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All the Way Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been a fan of Spinal Tap for a bit, but only recently got the DVD and discovered the magic that is the deleted scenes. This fic is based on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JSgH6thyHw">this one</a> and<a href="https://youtu.be/HOV0xlJIPUY?t=3466"> this one</a> , with the dialogue in the second half taken directly from the latter scene.  I couldn't make out everything that David says in the first scene so I paraphrased it as best I could. Hope someone enjoys this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>       Contrary to what <em> some </em> people might have believed, Nigel Tufnel did not spend every waking hour thinking of his bandmate, David St. Hubbins. He doubted it was even an hour out of every day. More like 35 minutes. That sounded about right, leaving room for such incredible thoughts as <em> mmm, crisps, </em> or <em> that lady’s got a bit of lipstick on her teeth, </em> or <em> I wonder how much that nice guitar is going for, </em> or even <em> so who WERE the druids really, and what were they doing at Stonehenge? </em>Thinking about David all day led to a cluttered mind, and he didn’t have a mental vacuum to pick up the refuse. It was about as much as David deserved, anyway.</p><p>       Tonight, however, Nigel figured he was starting to exceed his quota. Although the television at Rainbow Trout Studios was tuned to one of his favorite cartoons, his mind kept wandering back to stupid David and his <em> stupid </em> cheeky grin and his stupid, <em> stupid </em>flowing blond locks, and the stupid way he always insisted on being right, even when he knew he had no leg to stand on. Well, figuratively speaking. He wasn’t an amputee or anything. Though it might be kind of cool if he was.</p><p>       “I think I’ve seen this one,” he murmured to the cameraperson, whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn. In fact, Nigel was pretty sure he’d seen everything in which Gumby had ever starred, but remembering it was a different story. Frankly, the fact that the camera had followed him was disgruntling. He’d adapted to it surprisingly quickly, as a sort of friend with one big bug eye who never spoke and always insisted on hanging over his shoulder, but sometimes he wondered why it was even there. It was only natural for Marty to want to capture a studio session, but Nigel couldn’t see what himself watching cartoons had anything to do with that.</p><p>       Well, he was getting bored anyway, and the studio would probably be set up in an hour, so it was about time he ought to see what David was up to. </p><p>       The instant Nigel set foot in the lounge, he realized he didn’t have to go very far. Who should be sitting on the couch, camera trained on him as if he were the star of the show, but the very person for whom he’d been looking? David didn’t appear to have noticed him, lost in his guitar noodling. Nigel watched for a bit from the shadows, wondering if he should go over and say something, though he wasn’t sure what needed to be said. Finally he trod over, expecting to catch David’s attention, but his bandmate hardly raised his head. For a second Nigel stopped- did David want him there? But no, he was probably just tired like Nigel was, physically and of the road’s harsh grind.<em> "Like a woman,"</em> he remembered Ian griping once. <em>"A harsh mistress."</em> This was definitely the least tour-like tour that Spinal Tap had ever embarked on.</p><p>       When Nigel sat down, he could feel David glancing at him, but his musical stride never broke. To Nigel’s credit, he refused to stare back. Staring was impolite, wasn’t it? And there were loads of better things to look at in the lounge, like the weirdly-patterned carpet, and the beige walls… Or was it beige? More like off-beige. He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head and stifling a yawn. </p><p>      David’s guitar abruptly cut off, his hands stilling. Despite Nigel’s resolution not to look at him, he did so nonetheless, curious as to what had happened to the music. Two bright blue eyes bore into him, bringing to mind that really lovely song by The Who- <em> what’s it called again? </em> Then, like the clearing of a throat, the moment passed, and both glanced away in palpable awkwardness.</p><p>       David muttered something Nigel couldn’t make out, something about wanting to spend ten more minutes in the studio before going home. His idle playing resumed, while Nigel folded his arms across his chest and hung his head. If he wanted, he could have made some comment about how <em> typical </em>it was that David wanted to rush through things and hurry back to see the Queen Bitch… but he didn’t really want to. Just sitting here beside his oldest friend was enough to feel content. He had no idea if David felt the same way.</p><p>       Gradually, David’s finger-picking transitioned into a vaguely-familiar riff. <em> Is that one of ours? </em> It didn’t <em> sound </em>like something Spinal Tap would write, so maybe it was from their time as Thamesmen… or New Originals… or Original Originals, perhaps? David huffed a laugh, interesting Nigel further. But he still didn’t recognize it until David started singing.</p><p>       <em> “Well I’m sitting there beside the railroad track… and I’m waiting for my train to bring her back…” </em></p><p><em>        Christ. </em>Nigel covered his face to hide his weary, amused smile. Just one line, and it was like they were boys again, walking past the train tracks on their way back from school, poking each other and kicking up dirt and taking turns singing the lyrics they’d helped each other write when they should have been studying. He rose to the occasion, chiming in on the verse.</p><p>      <em> “If she’s not on the 5:19, then I’m gonna know what sorrow means. And I’m gonna cry, cry, cry all the way home…” </em></p><p><em>        “All the way home,” </em> David sang, taking over Nigel’s part, while Nigel began to play invisible harmonica, which was just like a regular harmonica only invisible. Upon hearing it, David cracked up and stumbled over the song’s words, satisfying Nigel immensely. He glanced over to find David wearing the inviting, affectionate smile that had gotten into Nigel’s heart so long ago, wearing him down until <em> all right, FINE, so I fancy men, </em> though mostly he fancied David, and if anyone got between them he wasn’t going to stop them- he couldn’t- but that didn’t mean he had to <em> like </em>it. </p><p>       The chorus ended, and David paused. Hardly a word was spoken, but Nigel knew exactly what David wanted, without the benefit of a verbal signal. He reached over and began to strum the guitar, the way he had back when they were both taking lessons but David was one step behind and needed some guidance. They’d always openly acknowledged, though they never spoke about it, that Nigel was the better guitarist. <em> It’s not bragging if you’re stating a fact. </em> Nowadays, the move made David laugh. Sure enough, David shook his head fondly as he tapped out a rhythm on the guitar’s body, his left hand still shaping the chords. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, and Nigel smiled back. <em> God… </em> When was the last time he and David had just had<em> fun</em> together? They'd performed the night before and it hadn't felt anything like <em>this.</em></p><p>       “Grown men!” David exclaimed, astounded, to Marty, silent as ever as he filmed the moment. Nigel didn’t pay him any mind. He stubbornly stuck out the strumming for a few more bars, but when the last verse came up he let David take over and resumed his harmonica playing. The last few notes rang out across the room, like wind chimes or birdsong or the aural equivalent of a delicious chocolate cake. It made Nigel feel as if someone had knit him a warm blanket and spread it over his shoulders. </p><p>       This, he decided, was what he could <em> really </em> do with. He wasn’t pining after David all day and night, and it wasn’t like he just wanted to fuck David’s brains out, either. What he wanted was a flat they could share, just like they had when they were starting out, a place where they could have breakfast every morning and read the paper and come up with new songs. They’d cuddle up on the couch and take turns washing the dishes and fool around a bit if they were in the mood, and tease and bicker and goof off just as much as they already did, but it’d be different because David would be with <em> Nigel. </em></p><p>       <em>Stranger things have happened, after all.</em></p><p>*</p><p>       If anyone had ever thought to ask David St. Hubbins how many hours a day he thought of his bandmate, Nigel Tufnel, the answer would have been “None at all.” He just didn’t see the point. Not only were there better things to think about, but there were better things to <em> do, </em> sensible things like envisioning a future for Spinal Tap, and tallying up their earnings from the tour thus far, and pondering why they couldn’t seem to put enough butts in seats this go-around… Well, come to think of it, those things were just as useless. They’d hired Ian to keep track of their affairs for a reason. But that merely added another item to David’s list of mental occupations- namely, the question of why Ian wasn’t doing all the worrying for him, leaving him free to have tea with Jeanine and work out the new songs they’d been writing and relax in a hot tub goofing on Marty and his inane questions. <em> That </em>was what mattered, not the endless speculation on what was going wrong with the band- and why the root cause seemed to be the person David didn't bother to pay any mind.</p><p>       Sitting in the lounge outside the control room at Rainbow Trout Studios, however, with his bandmate next to him, David found that Nigel had set up camp in his head. Specifically, he found himself wondering where their impromptu performance of "All the Way Home" had come from, and why he'd enjoyed it so much. Performing together wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence. Night after night they went up onstage, strutting their stuff and singing about sex farms and girls with big bottoms and other things that inflated David’s ego to the max. But as much as he loved that, it was this crummy little song, which neither of them had played onstage since they were teenagers, with which he felt the most comfortable and present. Why would that be the case? It didn't make <em>sense.</em></p><p>        “196...3,” he said out loud, trying to recall the date ostensibly for Marty’s sake, but also for Nigel’s. “Nineteen years ago. Lord.” How far they’d come in nineteen years… and yet, sometimes it felt like nothing had changed at all. That was the life of a rock star, permanently held in suspended animation.</p><p>       Glancing about the room, David wished there was a clock on the wall. <em> Ten minutes… </em>Just ten minutes in the studio, that’s all they needed. Just to bash out the guitar overdubs and go. He wondered how Jeanine was doing on her own at the hotel. She’d seemed happy enough when he’d bid her <em>au revoir</em>, but he knew better than anyone the tediousness of isolation. If he’d had his way, she’d still be at his side now- but Nigel wouldn’t be at his side, and that wouldn’t do, especially since they were trying to <em>make the magic happen, </em>as Derek had so optimistically put it earlier. </p><p>      Just then, Nigel spoke up. “So what, what are we doing here really? We trying to, uh... “</p><p>       “We’re trying to piece it back together, aren’t we?” David replied. At least, that was the impression <em> he’d </em> gotten. It bothered him that Nigel now seemed clueless. <em>He's the one who wrote the song. Is he really going to back out now?  </em></p><p>       “I’m not really, um…” Nigel stared down at the floor, concentrating heavily on seeking words that were beyond his knowledge. “I’m not really, uh… feeling like we can, uh… be as creative as we can be right now.”</p><p>      David started to interrupt- "But the-" but Nigel spoke over him.</p><p>      “How should I say it? I just don’t- I mean, it’s, uh… after the other day, it’s really, uh…”</p><p>      “I think I know what the problem was,” David cut in. <em> Don’t hurt yourself, mate. </em>“The center has always been us. I mean, the center has always been you and I.” He set his guitar down, to better focus on Nigel’s words.</p><p>      “Right from the beginning,” Nigel agreed.</p><p>       David nodded. “So that’s where the strength is, and we’ve got to go back to that. We’ve got to feel that again, we’ve got to feel that strength.”</p><p>       “I know, I agree with you, I just feel that something is...” Again, Nigel seemed to be struggling, though that wasn’t anything new. He gestured aimlessly, punctuating his points with random jabs at the air. “In the middle, y’know, not really… something is happening that’s not under our control.”</p><p>       Even though he knew it was a thankless question, David asked, “What do you mean?”</p><p>       “I don’t really know how to say it,” Nigel insisted. “I just know that it’s not… making me feel…” His voice dropped to a mumble. “I feel like I-” He hastily backtracked.</p><p>       “Say it,” David urged, suppressing a bemused chuckle. What was Nigel so hung up about? If he had a problem with the way things were going, surely he could talk to David. As far as communication went, he’d thought they’d currently reached a high point, discussing their business civilly instead of jumping down each other’s throats. Maybe Nigel didn’t see it that way.</p><p>       “I can’t say it,” Nigel said, chuckling slightly himself, as if realizing how silly he was being. “I can feel it, and I can think it, but I just can’t really seem to, um…” He trailed off and sought guidance from David, as if David could magically tune in to Nigel’s off-kilter wavelength and figure out just what was on his mind.</p><p><em>        You can very well say it. Typical Nigel. </em> It was times like these that David seriously wondered if Nigel’s stupidity was just an act, used to avoid uncomfortable topics that he understood perfectly well. He hadn’t always been like this. Not that he'd never acted slow-witted, but he hadn’t needed to resort to it so often. <em> 35 years old, and he’s still a dog sitting up and begging for biscuits. Still thinking he’ll be rewarded for his tricks. </em></p><p>       David responded carefully. “I do feel that whatever we had was at least engendered, or at least fertilized by the music itself. I think if we go in there and just get to work and forget about everything else, <em> fuck </em> everything else, who needs it? Get in and do the work we’re supposed to do…”</p><p>       <em>And nothing else will matter, </em>he mentally finished. At the end of the day, that was all David wanted. Perhaps it was what he’d been chasing for years. Nigel was right in that there’d been a serious drought of creativity on the band’s part lately- not that David would ever want to admit it. And though Nigel stubbornly refused to share<em> why </em>he believed that, David knew it was because something was driving him and Nigel apart, preventing them from achieving their full potential. Strength lay in numbers, in the sum of two halves, in the confines of that silly little ditty they’d made up together back in Squatney. All David wanted to do was recapture that feeling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how.</p><p>       Which was yet <em> another </em>thing to go on his list of “things they told me I wouldn’t have to worry about once I got rich and famous.” He had a feeling that Ian couldn’t bail him out of this one.</p><p>       “All right,” Nigel murmured, slouching back against the couch. His jaw worked as he rolled his gum through his mouth. The sound bristled David beyond belief. Stupid Nigel and his stupid gum-chomping and the stupid things he said that were more annoying than charming at this point, and how <em> stupid </em>he was to pretend they were still those naive little kids who’d lived across from one another and dreamed of taking over the world. </p><p>      They <em> had </em>taken over the world, piece by piece.</p><p>       They’d just never planned out what to do once they got there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...so I didn’t realize until after I wrote &amp; posted this that the deleted scene where Nigel is watching cartoons probably doesn’t take place on the same day as the studio session, because he’s wearing different clothes, but the way the reel was cut together confused me, so let’s just pretend it was the same day, okay? Anyway. Thanks to anyone who read this!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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